poems, silence, anxiety and living into the peace that passes understanding...

This poem has been popping up and demanding attention for a few days. And while I don't quite know what to make of it completely, it evokes something of this moment in time for me - and it feels right.

Early Hominids by Faith Shearin

In one museum scene they are bent over fire
and in another they hold their first stone tools
while the ice age approaches. They have been
painting mastodons and mammoths
in their caves, art already in their animal grasp,
and they have been leaving footprints
in volcanic ash, shedding their skeletons
in deserts. They have begun the journey
from trees to suburbs, have been dressing
themselves in early hats and considering
an alphabet. The young neanderthal looks like
a boy who bit you on the playground
and the woman beside him might be the woman
we avoid at the grocery store. This is evolution:
hair loss, math, a desire for furniture. Already
they worry about predators and weather; already
they have designs for a more comfortable bed.

(for more on the poet please go to her web page @ http://faithshearin.com)

An oblique but consistent assurance is present in these words: the soul of Hawthorne rather than Emerson peeking through the text to paraphrase Gregory Wolfe. Struggle is real - harsh and hairy with no room for romantic fantasies -  and yet, and this is equally true, built into the essence of our DNA it seems there is also a quiet yearning for "a more comfortable bed." A better life. An existence beyond that which is "nasty, brutish, and short." (Hobbes) I see this consistently in nature: there is a natural cycle of death begetting life on the road back into death and still more new life once more. Cosmologists suggest that the rhythm of Eucharist is built into the fabric of creation: from out of death comes new life that nourishes the world. Think Big Bang. Food chains. Fire.

This morning David Leonhardt's words in the NY Times suggested something similar in his consideration of the tensions between Iran and the US that are manifesting themselves in death. At the outset, let me be clear: I take a lot of my political/philosophical/theological cues from Reinhold Niebuhr. As a realist, rather than an ideologue, "Reinnie" reminds us that: Original sin is that thing about man which makes him capable of conceiving of his own perfection and incapable of achieving it. He suggests that:

+ Original sin is not inherited organically as Augustine's incomplete and even misogynist science posited; rather it is experienced in the anxiety born of both human freedom and dependence. "We either seek to avoid finitude" by asserting our complete independence and/or loyalty to an idea, leader, or ideology - the sin of pride - or we give up our freedom in pursuit of material pleasures - the sin of sensuality. The wonderful irony in Niebuhr's insight is that "the very freedom that is the occasion for sin also calls us, through conscience, to achieve greater justice and community."(Hein on Niebuhr on Human Nature, Sin and Justice @ https://heinonline.org/HOL/LandingPage?handle=hein.journals/
jchlet1&div=7&id=&page=) Built into the logic of creation itself is death and a path into new and better life because of this death. This wisdom is implicitly in his Serenity Prayer, but explicit in this classic summary: 

Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in our lifetime; therefore we must be saved by hope. Nothing which is true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore we must be saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore we must be saved by love. No virtuous act is quite as virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as it is from our standpoint. Therefore we must be saved by the final form of love which is forgiveness.

+ This tension between freedom and dependence - anxiety vs. sensuality balanced by conscience - can be seen in what I would call Iran's "measured" response to the belligerent and ill-considered spontaneity of the US President. Our leader, without adults in the room who know how government and diplomacy work and without an ethical bone in his body, appears to be ruled by his reptile brain. He is incapable of thinking and planning for the common good coherently and so acts and reacts in the most vulgar and dangerous ways. What Leonhardtt notes, however, is that there is a larger wisdom being played out.

Last spring, a former Pentagon official named Ilan Goldenberg wrote an article for Foreign Affairs called “What a War with Iran Would Look Like.” It included:

"Between the United States and Iran there is a distinct potential for misunderstanding, not least when both actors are making decisions under time pressure, on the basis of uncertain information, and in a climate of deep mutual distrust. Iran may mistake a one-off strike by the United States as the beginning of a significant military campaign that requires an immediate and harsh response. The danger that the United States will send confusing signals to the Iranians is especially high given Trump’s tendency to go off on Twitter …"

So far — in the hours after Iran’s retaliatory attack on two bases in Iraq that house American troops — this kind of vicious cycle does not look immediately likely. The attacks may not have killed any Americans, and Iran’s foreign minister signaled that the attacks “concluded” Iran’s response to the killing of its top general, Qassim Suleimani.

+ There are, of course, no guarantees - especially given the near insanity and incompetence of our current Commander in Chief. Quoting Ilan Goldberg last night, Leonhardt adds: "The missile attacks are not necessarily the entire Iranian response.” added:

My sense is that Iran needed to do something quickly, something symbolically, something that was public given how public the killing of Soleimani was. … But Iran didn’t want to trigger an all-out war. This Iranian attack is bold. It’s major. It’s significant. But it stops short of killing a large number of Americans. Then the Iranians, on their own state television, they’re saying things like 30 Americans were killed and that Iranian planes are flying into Iraqi territory. They’re saying all kinds of crazy things, which is really for their own domestic audience. So the reality is Iran found a way to, at least for the moment, respond relatively proportionally. … I think Iran will look to do other things over time, just maybe not as public. I still think we need to be worried about things like cyberattacks, terrorist attacks, targeting American embassies, assassination attempts on American officials. I think all those things are entirely on the table for potentially years, frankly, in retaliation.

My point in sharing is simple: breathing and taking time before reacting to almost anything - especially acts of international violence - is essential for peace-makers. All the public hang-wringing and hyperbole of the past few days only deepens our anxiety and traps us in an addictive downward spiral. It is another ironic sign of grace that while our news cycles have been hyper-ventilating about all the horrific possibilities that may occur, Fr. Richard Rohr's on-line meditations have been focused on silence. Not as an escape from reality, but rather as a way to live into this moment with a non-anxious presence that empowers our hearts with peace. 

When we connect with silence as a living, primordial presence, we can then see all other things—and experience them deeply—inside that container. Silence is not just an absence, but a primal presence. Silence surrounds every “I know” with a humble and patient “I don’t know.” It protects the autonomy and dignity of events, persons, animals, and all created things. To be clear, the kind of silence I’m describing does not ignore injustice. While some folks who claim to be enlightened contemplatives are merely navel-gazers, as Thomas Merton suggested, there are others who use silence to advance the cause of justice. Barbara Holmes explains:

"We tend to presume that one must create silent spaces for contemplation. It is as if we have drawn the spiritual veil around contemplative activity, seeking to distance prayerful and reflective practices from the noise of the world. [That couldn’t be further from the truth!]... European domination in Africa and in other nations elicited the silence of those captive cultures... Some of us allow [silence] to fully envelop and nurture our seeking; others who have been silenced by oppression seek to voice the joy of spiritual reunion in an evocative counterpoint."

Merton added: "That as frightening as it may be to “center down,” we must find the stillness at the core of the shout, the pause in the middle of the “amen,” as first steps toward restoration." Fear and anxiety are not the way to live into the Beloved Community. They are not an alternative to the brokenness and anger of this era, but a sign of how deeply were are enmeshed in the mess. Rohr adds:

We must find a way to return to this place, live in this place, abide in this place of inner silence. Outer silence means very little if there is not a deeper inner silence. Everything else appears much clearer when it appears or emerges out of silence. Without silence, we do not really experience our experiences. We are here, but not in the depth of here. We have many experiences, but they do not have the power to change us, awaken us, or give us the joy and peace that the world cannot give, as Jesus says (John 14:27). Without some degree of inner and even outer silence, we are never living, never tasting the moment. The opposite of contemplation is not action, it is reaction. We must wait for pure action, which proceeds from deep silence.

Within the mess, within the sin, within the anxiety, and our worry about " the predators and weather, already (we) have designs for a more comfortable bed." 

today I will... clean

Today, I will clean. At noon, we will take the decorations off the tree; gather-up the candles, stockings, and garlands; wrap the glass icicles and the hand-made tapestries; put away the electric fairy lights and bring this season to a close. Our engagement with the Advent/Christmas/Epiphany cycle has run its course. And as all wise hosts understand, when the celebration is complete, it is best savored surrounded by silence. We need to rest from the sensuality of the incarnation, a time to pause and reflect, a chance to regain a measure of perspective. 

So I will dust, vacuum, wash floors and all the rest. It is a leave-taking of sorts, this "un-hanging of the green," that offers a sobering clarity into a New Year beginning. There is an emptying, too, like a fast or extended quiet time that creates space for whatever might come next. A bleak midwinter? Probably. A season for penitence and compassion in Lent? Inevitably. The startling song of the red wing blackbird after it slips back into town under cover of the night? Assuredly. Mud? The return of the sun? Clearing the land? Gardening? Wars and rumors of wars? Heartache? Waiting? Yes, yes, yes and more yes! But first there is the cleaning: the text tells us that after finding the tiny Christ Child in a most unexpected place, the Magi returned home a different way.

That is part of what the cleaning means for me. I find myself looking forward to moving out the clutter and simplifying our front room again. Our tree has been wonderful - a place of quiet reflection most evenings in the glow of candle light - but now our old friend is drooping and shedding pine needles. It needs to be hauled back into the wetlands so it can break down and rejoin the cycle of creation by the time the Spring Equinox rolls around. Cleaning brings clarity to our home, giving us a chance to re-imagine how it might become a space that nurtures more hospitality in the year come. One hope is to host a series of small, quiet dinners in 2020 using resources from the Living Room  Conversations to practice listening and welcoming new people into our small world. They put it like this on their website:

We can turn the tide of rising rancor and deepening division by starting new conversations that build relationships — move from "us vs. them" to "you and me." We can transform the toxicity of tribalism into positive connections through conversation. Each person who listens first to understand tips the scales toward a stronger and more equitable for our nation and better relationships in our daily lives. (https://www.facebook.com/LivingRoomConversations/)

What else might the encounter of the Magi with the Christ Child mean for us? I think that the birth is blessed, but it is just the beginning of honoring the light,
regularly returning thanks throughout the day, and finding new ways to rest into the presence of reflection and silence. I wonder how shall we return our home to a place that keeps the busyness at bay? Are there new/old ways to bring sensual, creative and artistic gifts into our space to replace the light of our tree?  To help us push back the darkness that threatens to squeeze God's peace out of our hearts? 

This notion is new to me, but I have been pondering some icons. Generations in the East have found that visual prayers contribute to a spirit of contemplation in the home long after the feasting and celebrations are over. For our family, the icons would need to be simple but creative. I would want to replace them seasonally, too both to deepen my liturgical prayer and because I get bored easily. 

Henri Nouwen wrote an elegant little book on using icons to pray with our eyes: Behold the Beauty of the Lord. I first read it in 1987 - thirty three years ago - and it still stands the test of time. What I had not realized until today, however, is that Henri was first introduced to icons at L'Arche in Trosly, France during a series of retreats. Had the late Jean Vanier's assistant, Barbara Swanekamp, had not placed an icon in the theologian's room, "this book probably would not have been written." In an introduction Nouwen writes;

Gazing is probably the best word to touch the core of Eastern spirituality. Whereas St. Benedict, who has set the tone for the spirituality of the West, call us first of all to listen, the Byzantine fathers (and mothers) focus on gazing.

Two icons that have caught my eye of late: "Epiphany" by the contemporary
artist Janet McKenzie, and, "Adoration of the Magi" from the ancient Ethiopian Coptic tradition. The first offers a creative insight into the blessings of Epiphany not only by picturing the Magi as Three Wise Women, but also by painting the participants as part of a bold and inclusive rainbow of humanity. (For an excellent description of this painting, please see Christine Schenk's article from the National Catholic Reporter @ https://www.ncronline. org/blogs/simply-spirit/epiphany-wise-women)

The second, from the Coptic Church of Africa, is equally captivating to me. It, too, is inclusive and creative; one time it looks ancient and then it looks completely contemporary. I love that all eyes are clearly fixed upon the Christ Child. 

Icons and candles will never replace the Christmas Tree. And they shouldn't. But they could give us another way to return to our home in a new way that is still grounded in the spirituality of Epiphany. Richard Wehrman's poem, "The Call" hit me just right today:

It’s not the day on the

calendar that makes the

New Year new, it’s when

the old year dies that the new

year gets born. It’s when the

ache in your heart breaks

open, when new love makes

every cell in your body

align. It’s when your baby

is born, it’s when your

father and mother die. It’s

when the new Earth is

discovered and it’s the

ground you’re standing on.

The old year is all that is

broken, the ash left from all

those other fires you made;

the new year kindles from

your own spark, catches flame

and consumes all within

that is old, withered and dry.

The New Year breaks out

when the eye sees anew,

when the heart breathes open

locked rooms, when your

dead branches burst into

blossom, when the Call comes

with no doubt that it’s

calling to you.

epiphany 2020: gratitude for the liturgies that gives shape and form to my spirituality

There is a gentle snow falling with full, fat flakes on our part of the world right now. It fills me with a sense of stillness and gratitude. I adore days like these - especially when I don't have to go out and hustle about - worrying about whether another is driving too fast on roads that are too slick. But there are errands to attend, so out I will go. 

It is the Feast of the Epiphany in my Western Christian tradition - also Christmas Day for Eastern Orthodox believers. Once upon a time, I was in the former Soviet Union on this exact day, in the beautiful city that used to be called Leningrad (St. Petersburg.) It was snowing that day, too when we came upon a church whose choir was rehearsing for midnight mass. They welcomed our small band of visitors from the West into their presence like the Magi - with holy hospitality - sharing smiles, hugs, and songs as neither group could speak the other's language. And for a moment in time, nothing else mattered: the snow and candles sparkled, a capella voices mimicked the heavenly host, and something of the Christ Child was mysteriously revealed within and among us that night.

So often this is the way with the Christ Child shows up: unexpectedly in the oddest yet ordinary places. The collect for this feast hints at how we experience this mystery with language both simple and direct: "O God, by the leading of a star you manifested your only Son to the peoples of the earth: Lead us, who know you now by faith, to your presence, where we may see your glory face to face; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen." (BOCP, p. 214) 

Our prayer suggests there are clues, symbols, and signs in real life that beckon us to follow the star if we have eyes to see and hearts to trust. Such is the calling of those who, "live by faith rather than sight." We look for clues, we listen for songs, we take time to be still, we wander in the wilderness, we let ourselves be surprised one more time so we can taste and see the goodness of the Lord. And over the course of a lifetime, these small, mystical moments and clues add up so that we sense something of God's glory even as we await its fullness face to face.

St. Paul's confession that, "now we see as through a glass darkly; then we shall see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully even as I have been fully known" (I Corinthians 13: 12) holds multiple truths for us. From the time I was a small child till earlier today, I have known a multitude of epiphanies. Some have been life changing, causing me to return home by another path like the Magi (Matthew 2: 12). Others have been "aha" moments of delight when I suddenly glimpsed a piece of the bigger picture. While still others have shown up as brooding questions or agonizing mysteries totally beyond my comprehension that I have had to hold and ponder in my heart silently for years like the mother of Jesus (Luke 1: 19/51). Cumulatively they have become my answer to the question: Why do you continue to live by faith when so much of your religion is broken and even bad? My answer is because I have tasted the goodness of the Lord in small ways throughout my life - a song on the car radio that lifts me beyond my grief at just the right moment, a friend who sends me an email from out of nowhere and we start to repair a broken friendship, the waves of the ocean that draw me under then toss me back on the sand as a child as I start to sense the enormity of awe, my special needs dog looks up at me every morning with total trust, I help deliver each of my two daughters as God invites us into the sacred act of welcoming new life into the world, I collapse in tears of release during confession - and each of these small encounters nourish me more than I warrant or deserve. Like Bono used to say: grace trumps karma.

The grandfather of Western Comparative Religion, the late Huston Smith, used to say that the essence of his religious formation could be summed up as: "We are in good hands, in gratitude for this goodness it would be well if we bore one another's burdens." (For more on Smith go to: https://www.motherjones. com/politics/1997/11/world-religion-according-huston-smith/) In another conversation in the Buddhist periodical, Tricycle, Smith reminds us that every institution has a dark side. "Would you dispense with learning institutions because of the problems of the universities?" (https://tricycle.org/magazine
/spirituality-versus-religion/) Religion is organized spirituality. It gives shape, form, and content to our deepest values and most important truths. It abides long after our emotions have faded from memory. Smith adds:

Religion has preserved history’s greatest wisdom teachings. If the Buddha had not founded the sangha, the community of monks, the Four Noble Truths and the bodhisattva vow would have evaporated in a generation. If Jesus had not been followed by Saint Paul, who founded the Christian Church, the Sermon on the Mount would have been forgotten in a generation or two....Spirituality (alone) gives us a nice, warm feeling, but it doesn’t reach out to other people. When India had a horrendous earthquake three or four years ago, the San Francisco Chronicle listed ten organizations to which you could send contributions to help. Five of the ten were religious; “spirituality” wasn’t one of them. What’s not good for our culture is when spirituality elbows religion aside because it sees itself as superior and sees only the downside of organized religion. The upside is far greater. Robert Bellah, a retired professor from UC Berkeley and one of the most discerning sociologists I know, says that, without the support of churches, the civil-rights movement would never have succeeded. And without the opposition of mainline churches in the eighties, we would have had troops in Guatemala and El Salvador backing up the CIA and installing or defending corrupt dictators. (Water from A Deeper Well, The Sun Magazine interview with Huston Smith @ https://www.thesunmagazine.org/issues/322/water-from-a-deeper-well)

On this Epiphany it is clear to me that while my particular religious tradition is dying a natural death - and must do so without artificially prolonging its demise - the way of Jesus will continue. The preacher who was inspired by St. Paul to craft the New Testament book of Hebrews said: "Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today, and forever." (Hebrews 13:8) Not that Jesus was static - or rigid - or ethically calcified. But, rather, that his small way of loving and sharing the core of God's grace remains throughout time - and beyond time. I still find great value in the liturgical organization of my wider Christian family. So today I rejoice that the liturgy helps me grasp what might otherwise remain obscure. Epiphany celebrates the mystery of how the Christ Child continues to be born in the most unlikely places. It asks me to be grateful that the blessings of God continue to be shared beyond tribe, race, creed, and culture. And it invites me to keep that sharing alive. 

to everything there is a season: silence instead of the so-called news for epiphany...

Being enslaved and/or addicted to the news cycle in the West is dangerous not only to our mental and spiritual well-being, but also to our physical health. It is one of the ways the "master class" (to use Eugene V. Debs old-school term) keeps us anxious, distracted, and reactive. The stress and hyper-tension that is intentionally created by Tweets, FB, 24/7 reporting, and all the rest keeps us awake, unsettles any sense of equilibrium, and taxes our immune system. It is no coincidence that ALL of my spiritual directors for the past 30 years have urged me to: 1) disconnect from all forms of so-called news on a daily basis, and, 2) practice periodic total fasting from the "news" throughout the year. I recall reading somewhere that the late Jean Vanier made a commitment to watching only one news summary each week - and it was fundamentally a time for weeping and prayers of lament. The rest of his hours were spent listening to and visiting with his loved ones, walking in nature, praying the hours, and sharing food and laughter with those who needed him the most. I think he was right.

Over the past year, various mainstream media writers have confessed that they, too, have recognized the value of fasting from social media, cable newscasts, and print journalism. David Leonhart of the NY Times not only stopped posting during the time between Christmas and New Year's Day, but also wrote in support of turning off your phone for thanksgiving. "About a month ago," he wrote, "my wife and I decided that our family would spend a Saturday without the internet, a practice known as a Tech Shabbat (a reference to the Jewish day of rest)."

I wasn’t sure whether I’d like it, I’ll admit, and our kids were even less sure.But it was wonderful. We hung out with friends, without distraction. We never had to ask, guiltily, “Sorry, what’d you say?” because we had been only semi-listening. In between scheduled activities, we took a walk and played a board game, Settlers of Catan. I spent time thinking about long-term projects instead of replying to unimportant emails. It felt productive, rejuvenating and, yes, fun. Tiffany Shlain, a filmmaker who popularized the idea of a Tech Shabbat, says that on her day without screens, she laughs more, sleeps better and feels healthier. As she writes in her recent book, “24/6”: “Having one day off each week shocks you anew into the realization of how bizarre it is that everyone is head-down, looking at screens all the time. That should never feel normal.” (https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/
24/opinion/thanksgiving-technology.html)

Ours is a culture simultaneously liberated from the restraints of out-moded and oppressive religion, but also unmoored from time-tested spiritual practices designed to help us rest, grow in wisdom, and advance tenderness in a harsh world. In a neglected but brilliant book, Rediscovering Reverence, author Ralph Heintzman explores how a secular culture"nurtures the virtues of reverence consciously." Some turn to nature and/or art - wonderful encounters with grace and awe - that open individual hearts. Heintzman notes that "seeking spirituality outside a religious frame of reference is certainly worthwhile, as far as it goes."

What non-religious spiritualities often miss is the essence of spirituality - that is spiritual habits, spiritual exercise, spiritual discipline, spiritual behavior and action in the world - (which) is why people prefer the non-religious kinds of spirituality: they are easier. They make fewer real demands. They don't make you change your routines, our your habits, or yourself, or your world. They don't require a turning of the heart, the inner transformation that Thomas Aquinas called "faith." ... These attitudes fit well both with the culture of comfort and convenience in contemporary (Western) societies - the culture of self-assertion and expressive individualism - sometimes called a culture of narcissism.
(p. 188)

A colleague recently captured the dilemma of this moment in time in his post: Keeping the Christmas Decorations Up Till the Feast of the Epiphany. "While the Reformation and the Age of the Enlightenment may have freed us from the "evil" superstitions of religion, it also stripped us of the sensuality of the spiritual in our lives." Nearly everyone in the USA has fled the moribund and antiseptic worship habits of the Reformed tradition. Countless have given up on the Roman Catholic experience with their never-ending disclosure of yet another sexual violation. And younger believers have abandoned the emotional buzz of Evangelicalism because of its anti-science, anti-intellectual irrelevance. In the absence of a sensual, sensible, mystical, and morally meaningful faith traditions, it is no wonder many look for simpler, easier, do-it-yourself spiritualities. 

The spiritual engages more than the rational side of our lives(which is about all the Reformation churches do) it also engages our senses, so that we can smell and taste and feel the presence of the divine in our lives beyond just thinking about the Divine. So I am glad to bring to my Protestant affiliation all of my Catholic baggage around the sensuality of the incarnation. I am proud to keep the Christmas decorations up beyond Christmas(the rational thinkers look at Christmas as an event on the calendar and scurry to take every down immediately), because the sensuality of the manger and the tree and the lights give flesh to what the incarnation is about, in a way that moves us beyond the head and into the heart and the guts and the work a day world that needs a little more sensitivity to life, more patience with the struggle of life. One of the children at our Christmas Eve service(the first Children's sermon ever in our congregation) when asked what do we know about babies said: "They cry all the time!!!" I said yes, and it moves us to respond by feeding and caring and doing all the other things we do for babies. So is to the sensuality of the incarnation and the great manifestation of the Epiphany: God becomes human so that we might experience more of the divine in our midst! (Find Vern's other insights on Face Book.)

Two emerging realities are slowly and quietly offering alternatives to both the antiquated religious traditions of the 21st century and the shallowness of self-centered spirituality. One is the reclamation of time-tested spiritual practices like Sabbath, silence, fasting, contemplation, and acts of compassion albeit with a New Age groove. The other is equally revolutionary but smaller, simpler, and rooted in new forms of ancient practices. 

+ Ethan Blake describes one approach in an article in The Forward:
"Jewish or Gentile, rigid or fluid, as a boisterous Friday night dinner or solo Saturday retreat — the practice of Shabbat can offer an accessible gift of spiritual transformation. As we strive daily to fix our inherently broken world in quests for idols and deceptive messiahs, perhaps Shabbat is a true and accessible utopia, neither a perfect nation nor era of peace, but a weekly consciousness that sees infinite gratitude for what really matters in our finite lives." (https://forward.
com/life /faith/ 414199/the-secular-case-for-a-biblical-sabbath/) 

+ Tim Cahan points to a vastly different way in Rolling Stone: "A week before Kanye West and the Kardashians turned Easter Sunday into a hyped up celebration of music and merch, Diplo, Flume and a half-dozen other electronic acts had descended upon the shabby-chic Two Bunch Palms resort outside Palm Springs for a two-day event dubbed “Secular Sabbath.” Their goal: to provide an oasis for calm and creativity, set close enough to Coachella for attendees to feel the music, but far enough for them to feel a difference too."
(https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/kanye-sunday-service-diplo-flume-secular-sabbath-coachella-828693/)

The second alternative reclaims the importance of eating together, entering the silence of contemplation together, and caring for one another's wounds in community. It is free from denominational dogma and dominance, too but firmly rooted in the historic wisdom traditions of Christianity, Islam, Judaism, or Buddhism. This clip from last week's PBS News is illustrative.

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/24/opinion/thanksgiving-technology.html 

What all of the new/old experiments emphasize in very different ways are:

+ Maintaining primal encounters with the sacred: "Those moments when a mysterious power seems to break through the surface of ordinary human existence" as Heintzman describes it. Spirituality is not about belief or doctrine but encounters with the sacred - and how they can change our lives.

+ Linking our horizontal and vertical experiences of the holy with time-tested wisdom:  Spiritual practices shared both in community and in private often are enriched when interpreted by tradition. Cynthia Bourgeault writes that when spirituality is shaped only by experience, it loses touch with the practice of surrender - and remains shallow.

+ Learning to discern the connections between ecstasy and everyday reverence:  There is a rhythm to mature spirituality - like the beating of the heart - that trains us in the "in and out, back and forth, permanence and change, part and whole, union and union-union, rhythm of creation" that can sustain us through all of reality. (Heintzman)

After the current regime murdered Suleimani - boasting of their horrible act as righteous and ratcheting up their ugly rhetoric when diffusing fear and hatred would be in order - our news cycle went into hyperbolic overdrive. Non-stories filled with violent images filled the airwaves. Like Chris Hedges used to say: our "news" is addicted to blood and adrenaline, pumping us all up in ways that are degrading and unhealthy. Once again, I sense that it is time to turn them all OFF. It is time to be together with others in prayer. And silence. And it is time to dial back our own reactive vitriol. We can be angry, challenging, and direct without being vulgar, stupid, and cruel. We can join our voices with other peace-makers seeking a way through the danger that builds solidarity instead of merely adding more self-righteous noise to the already cluttered cacophony.

During the season of Epiphany, that begins with the Feast Day tomorrow, until Lent: why not practice a fast from the news cycle? Why not replace your obsession with prayer? Your speaking with silence? Your individualism with community? Could you? Would you? What do you need to make it happen? Let's give it a try maybe using this as our foundation?

Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace; 

Where there is hatred, let me sow love; 

Where there is injury, pardon; 

Where there is doubt, faith; 

Where there is despair, hope; 

Where there is darkness, light; 

And where there is sadness, joy. 

O Divine Master,

Grant that I may not so much seek

To be consoled as to console; 

To be understood, as to understand; 

To be loved, as to love; 

For it is in giving that we receive, 

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned, 

And it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life. 

Amen.

listening to jean - and jesus - to trust what is small and true...

In December 2007, the radio journalist, Krista Tippett, interview the late Jean Vanier for her "On Being" program. I have embedded the unedited version of their conversation here for those willing to go deeper. It takes time to savor this give and take - 90 minutes - and in our era of "breaking news" and "instant 24/7 emergencies" you may not feel you have the time. Americans are overly reactive - obsessively utilitarian - and always in motion. We already possess all the time that there is, but still we feel rushed. Pressured. Out of breath. Taking these 90 minutes might be just what the doctor ordered for you - an extended break in the middle of the day to be nourished by joy - but that's up to you to decide. I leave it here for you as an option. (I am going to re-listen later this afternoon.) 

The Wisdom of Tenderness from The On Being Project on Vimeo.

There is a portion of this conversation that continues to inform my sou and challenge my imagination: it occurs during the last third of the video and has to do with the blessing and curse of technology. Here's the set up from the show's transcript:

Ms. Tippett: Another piece of wisdom I think about L’Arche is, as you say, its presence, the physical presence. This is another conversation I have with people all the time in different context — that the world’s pain comes to people in Western cultures often through their television sets or through reading some horrific story in a newspaper or seeing an absolutely heartbreaking picture, like a picture I saw of an Iraqi child crying at a funeral the other week that haunted me for days. And yet, there’s nothing I can do for that Iraqi child, you know? He’s thousands of miles away. I think I’m also aware that it’s not only that I can’t touch his pain or the sources of it directly. It’s that I don’t know his sources of solace. I don’t know what’s going to help him get up the next day and somehow start to heal. I’m just, I’m throwing that out… 

Mr. Vanier: We are in an incredible world of technology, the global world. And yet, with television and even with cell phones and internet, we can cut away from relationship. To get an email, you don’t see the eyes of the person, you don’t see the face, you don’t see the smile, you don’t see the hands, you don’t see the tone of voice. And we have to come down to small is beautiful because small is where we relate.

Ms. Tippett: Isn’t it funny that global technology may bring us back to small is beautiful.

Mr. Vanier: Possibly. Or take us away from it. As I had said, as you look at that Iraqi child and you were wounded and wanted to do something, yet you were confronted by your incapacity because the child was not in front of you. If that child was in front of you, you could have taken the child in your arms. So we’re going into a world where the imagination, the virtual, the long distance, see things far away, appear as close. But you can’t touch them. They’re close to the imagination, but they’re not close to the body. So let’s come back to the reality of the small.

Vanier quietly but insistently makes a case for the upside wisdom of the gospel: that the way of healing in a world of power involves proximity, vulnerability, and tenderness. It is the blessing of being so small that you can touch what hurts. In another setting Vanier spoke of this as the "10 Foot Rule" where we realize, accept, and practice that we can only influence and touch the people who are closest to us. Ten feet away in any direction. The rest of the world's pain is beyond our ability to change. That is humbling, but true. "Look at that Iraqi child (you spoke of) who wounded you so that) you wanted to do something, yet you were confronted by your incapacity because the child was not in front of you. If that child was in front of you, you could have taken the child in your arms. So we’re going into a world where the imagination, the virtual, the long distance, see things far away, appear as close. But you can’t touch them. They’re close to the imagination, but they’re not close to the body."

Such is the seductive illusion of our social media technology: it causes us to trust a mistaken sense of being "in touch" with events and realities that we truly cannot touch. We believe we are connected, when we are alienated and isolated. I think of the story in St. Matthew's gospel where the scholars, literati, and lawyers came to Jesus to put him to the test.

"Show us a sign from heaven," they asked. Jesus replied, “When it is evening, you say, ‘It will be fair weather, for the sky is red.’ And in the morning, ‘It will be stormy today, for the sky is red and threatening.’ You know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but you cannot read the signs of the times. An evil and adulterous generation asks for a sign, but no sign will be given except the sign of Jonah.” Then he left them and went away. (Matthew 16: 1-4)

In truth, our ability to change life is limited. Modest and small. For most of my life I was trained and encouraged to think big. To strive for great things. To make a difference. Looking backwards, a few good things probably happened in the social justice organizing and pastoral ministries I gave myself to over the years. But not a lot. Like St. Paul, I was blinded by illusions of grandeur and too full of myself to grasp the miraculous grace and holiness of the small. The wisdom that Cynthia Bourgeault shares reminds me that we only learn to see with the eye of the heart, when we practice dying and surrendering to self before death, do things start to matter.

Spiritual practice doesn't ordinarily start on one's deathbed. The real dying is much more an inner attitude, more of a 'just let the fear come up and fall through it to the other side.' This gesture can be learned in life as well - in fact, that's the shortest description of what spiritual practice is all about. And once it's been learned, our actual physical death is no longer the huge watershed it formerly appeared to be, but is seen as merely a continuation of this same inner gesture we have already become intimately familiar with... The code word for this inner gesture is surrender... The word surrender means to "hand oneself over" or "entrust oneself." It is not about outer capitulation, but about inner opening. It is always voluntary and rather than an act of weakness, is always an act of strength. (The Wisdom Way of Knowing, p. 72)

I first heard Vanier's wisdom about the holiness of all that is small - and the blessings it brings - at the close of my formal ministry. Di and I were in the car returning from one of our many trips to Montréal . As is our want on a long car trip, we were listening to a podcast. The first two thirds of this interview were engaging and informative, but the closing third was yet an encounter with the truth that when the student is ready, the Buddha appears. I was ready. I had been having panic attacks about continuing my work in the local church. Not only was I feeling dried up and worn out, only three parts of the grind held any meaning for me: celebrating Eucharist, visiting with individuals for conversation and prayer, and sharing music with the wider community. When I heard Jean say, "We’re going into a world where the imagination, the virtual, the long distance, see things far away, (yet they) appear as close. But you can’t touch them. They’re close to the imagination, but they’re not close to the body. So let’s come back to the reality of the small." the scales fell from my eyes. For the last two years of ministry I simply gave myself to being small: celebrating Eucharist, visiting and praying, making music.

It wasn't easy, for me, or others. Who was going to attend to administration? Or fund-raising? Or church politics? It was painful to relinquish these tasks and trust being small. Some were angry that I no longer had a grand vision for ministry. I often felt confused, but knew from previous encounters with being blind before I could see, that God's way requires seasons of purification, silence and training in trust before Easter arrives. Authentic seeing "is accomplished by dying: for whosoever would save his life shall lose it, and whoever shall lose his/her life for my sake will save it." (Luke 9:24)

Cut back to the Vanier interview, please, especially given the anxiety and frantic reactions to the assault of our current news cycle of war, political intrigue, a world on fire and all the rest: what can you touch? "Let us come back to the reality of the small."

Ms. Tippett: Like the people who live down the street from us.
Mr. Vanier: We can touch them; we can be with them. The difficulty with L’Arche, which is also a beauty — I say it’s our difficulty, it’s our beauty, is that it’s small, and it’s just very little.

Ms. Tippett: It’s small, and yet the story of L’Arche is that from one community in France, you are now all over the world. You’re in Africa. You’re in Bangladesh. You’ve talked about Calcutta, some of the places you’ve mentioned.

Mr. Vanier: Yes. L’Arche has grown. But the reality of every day is sometimes quite painful in the smallness in a world where people are being pushed to pretend that they’re big.

Ms. Tippett: I think it is. It’s deeply countercultural that you say repeatedly, you don’t want with L’Arche to change the world. That’s not the goal.

Mr. Vanier: What we can do is what Gandhi says: We can’t change the world, but I can change. If I change, and I seek to be more open to people and less frightened of relationship, if I begin to see what is beautiful within them, if I recognize also that there’s brokenness because I’m also broken, and that’s OK, then there’s something that begins to happen. It’s so countercultural, but that doesn’t matter. What has happened, what I sense for the future of our poor little world, with all its ecological difficulties and financial difficulties, that maybe the big thing that’s going to happen is that little lights of love will spread over the country. Little places where people love each other and welcome the poor and the broken. Where we give to each other their gifts and have these little, little places, and that the world is — we’ll never hit the headlines, but we’ll be creating these little lamps. And if there are sufficient number of little, little lamps in each village or each city and parts of the city, well then the glow will be a little bit greater.

Ms. Tippett: What is it you’ve said, that L’Arche is not meant to be a solution but a sign.

Face Book is currently saturated with anxious anti-war memes. There is now a new round of vicious name calling and rants about the cruel nature of our current regime, too. So what? Venting has a place, to be sure, but mostly among friends and in private. Our public witness, our calling as people of faith, our engagement in the world that matters is to love what can be touched. To trust that God is greater than our feelings.Or the evidence. To live into the promise that the word becomes flesh when we take our bodies seriously. When we quit being reactive and anxious and start trusting the slow rhythms of creation.

Right here we come to another significant fork in the road between Wisdom and our common cultural assumption. For many of us in the West (giving up our obsession with grand acts and the affects of individualism) sound like the death of art, the death of any seeing. Ever since the grand era of Romanticism in the nineteenth century, we've had a cultural tendency to think that art is made up entirely of passions and that we need our egoic self to keep the pot of passion stirred. But remember the surprising teaching that the problem with the passions is that they divide our heart. To the storm-tossed vision or romantic individualism, Wisdom poses an astonishing counter-vision: that this "passion" we are so impressed with in the West cannot possible be original, and it keeps us stuck on the surface of ourselves, bobbling around in a chop... The actual meaning of the word "original" doesn't mean being different. It means being connected to the origin. (Bourgeault, Wisdom, pp. 88-89)

I am not pretending that these are placid, peaceful times. They are not. But adding our anxious reactions and vitriol to the pot does not advance the cause of compassion. Or healing. Or hope. Rather, that comes from trusting the counter-cultural wisdom that small is holy. It is a work in progress for me - and probably for you, too.  It requires a lot of quiet time where God can grow trust within us. The interview with Vanier and Tippett closes with this insight - a reminder that only as we surrender and trust can we advance God's peace - and it is a good place for me to end, too.

Ms. Tippett: What is it you’ve said, that L’Arche is not meant to be a solution but a sign.

Mr. Vanier: Yes, we can’t. Once I was speaking to a man in a big city in the United States. He said, “Give me the formula, and I’ll create 300 L’Arches in the next two years.” I said, “It doesn’t work like that. It’s a transmission of a vision, and it’s counter culture. But that’s OK. Who we are, who we are.”

living into a time beyond time...

As Christmastide moves into its closing days (I refuse to surrender to the culture's insistence that Christmas ends on New Year's Day; not stridently or judgmentally, mind you, just quietly as I look towards the Feast of the Epiphany on January 6) I have turned again to Centering Prayer. There is a reason why the parable of the prodigal child in St. Luke's 15th chapter remains a favorite: besides my multiple other wanderings, my adult life seems to revolve around returning home time and again to the stillness of grace after a season or so of distractions and distress. The Psalmist cuts to the chase: Lord, make me know your ways. Lord, teach me your paths. Make me walk in your truth, and teach me: for you are God my savior. (Psalm 25)

For those who would like to try - or return to - Centering Prayer let me suggest Cynthia Bourgeault's website: The Contemplative Society. You may find it here @ https://www.contemplative.org/cynthia-bourgeault/) Under the banner go to "Contemplative Practices" and scroll down to Centering Prayer. She writes: 

Most faith traditions have some form of meditation or contemplation. Virtually all methods of meditation have a goal of expanding, or deepening, the consciousness of the practitioner. The details vary. The Contemplative Society focuses on Centering Prayer, a surrender method of meditation, or contemplative prayer, that reaches back to the early days of Christianity.

There is also a concise "how to do centering prayer" that will get you started. NOTE: I was grateful to find a reference to an app available from Contemplative Outreach for use on a smart phone that offers an overview, opening chimes, prayers and a timer. Go to your App Store and search for it there or copy this link: https://www.contemplativeoutreach.org/centering-prayer-mobile-app. It is are truly helpful use of technology!

After a few days I am aware of how lively my "monkey mind" really is, and, how wonderful it is to begin practicing being beyond time. The late Henri Nouwen and others have written that when our journey through this life is over, and we enter being with the holy beyond time, we shall be at peace. In a way, Centering Prayer is a foretaste of life beyond life and certainly beyond time. It is also a way to learn how to live into the wisdom of our feelings without being enslaved to them. In another section of Bourgeault's website, "Welcoming Practice," she writes: 

The Welcoming Practice takes the core of Centering Prayer out into daily life; that is, the witnessing component which is one of the most transformative of the Christian spiritual practices. According to Cynthia Bourgeault, it is important to identify this as a practice and not a prayer, maintaining the emphasis on the action of letting go as opposed to passive acquiescence to external circumstances. The practice was developed by Mary Mrozowski in the early 1980s, drawing on her work with biofeedback training, Jean Pierre de Caussade’s Abandonment to Divine Providence, and her integration of Thomas Keating’s teachings on the “false-self system”. It is intended to cultivate surrender to our deeper Self in times when attachment is tempting: difficult feelings and situations, feelings of inflation (eg. smugness, pride, vainglory), and even the “highs” (eg. “I don’t want this to end!”).

It is the practice of living as a non-anxious presence in a world obsessed and addicted to anxiety. Earlier in the day I came upon this stunning poem from the heart of the poet Karen An-hwei Lee. (find out more about her @ https://karen anhweilee.com/about/) I heard it on the January 1, 2020 podcast of "The Slowdown" @ https://www.slowdownshow.org/episode/2020/01/01/288-on-the-turning-of-the-year. What a perfect way to be grounded in the start of this new year even as Christmastide subsides" "On the Turning of the Year."

To witness five seventeen-year cicada
cycles in a lifetime—To hear an entomologist refer to cycles
as blooms—

To say a metallic clicking noise repels the crows in our apple
orchard—To say cicada blooms explain the crashing
bird populations—

To list reasons why I wish to murmur injunctions of praise
in the ellipses of fireflies—to wonder if a funicular monikered angel flight,

rusted out-of-commission on a city hill,
a mourning dove over beds of grass-licked cloud, hovers—

To ponder the alpha and omega of eating
salmon roe—To sing the floating syllables of winter suns—
trilling rose-fire of melisma—

To arrange stargazer lilies on a console so a day
brightens—To seek an equivalent for nonexistence
not absence—

To pray until we vanish together, in sum—
To say, without song, hosanna—at the turning of the year

continue...

This poem by Maya Angelou captures the essence of what prayer, faith, hope, spirituality, intimacy, mysticism, solidarity, and integrity is all about. It is called, "Continue" and I can't get enough of it!

My wish for you
Is that you continue

Continue

To be who and how you are
To astonish a mean world
With your acts of kindness

Continue

To allow humor to lighten the burden
Of your tender heart

Continue

In a society dark with cruelty
To let the people hear the grandeur
Of God in the peals of your laughter

Continue

To let your eloquence
Elevate the people to heights
They had only imagined

Continue

To remind the people that
Each is as good as the other
And that no one is beneath
Nor above you

Continue

To remember your own young years
And look with favor upon the lost
And the least and the lonely

Continue

To put the mantle of your protection
Around the bodies of
The young and defenseless

Continue

To take the hand of the despised
And diseased and walk proudly with them
In the high street
Some might see you and
Be encouraged to do likewise

Continue

To plant a public kiss of concern
On the cheek of the sick
And the aged and infirm
And count that as a
Natural action to be expected

Continue

To let gratitude be the pillow
Upon which you kneel to
Say your nightly prayer
And let faith be the bridge
You build to overcome evil
And welcome good

Continue

To ignore no vision
Which comes to enlarge your range
And increase your spirit

Continue

To dare to love deeply
And risk everything
For the good thing

Continue

To float
Happily in the sea of infinite substance
Which set aside riches for you
Before you had a name

Continue

And by doing so
You and your work
Will be able to continue
Eternally

This gets it soooo right. My deepest hope and prayer for myself this year is that I might nourish and strengthen the spirit of Jesus within me so that I can live more tenderly as a man of encouragement for others to continue. Last night I watched the movie, "Two Popes" and loved it. I wept and laughed sometimes simultaneously. Right before Christmas, Di and I went to see "A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood" and, in a vastly different context, I found myself doing the very same thing: laughing and weeping. My hunch is that this is one of the best ways to connect with the spirit of Jesus. It is certainly a time-tested way to be real with the ordinary people Jesus came to cherish.

During the fall of 2019 I took Cynthia Bourgeault's on-line class as the Center for Action and Contemplation: "Introductory Wisdom School." it was brilliant - and opened my head and heart to some connections I have long intuited, but now realize have been true since before the beginning of time. Like surrender as the way to trust, paradox as the core of spirituality, compassion and tenderness as the essence of true life. Like Bourgeault says, "our journey is to live as gentle and low maintenance people" in the midst of a hard and often confusing world. In this season of Christmastide, where I playfully keep turning on the Christmas tree lights until the close of Epiphany on January 6, I am oh so slowly starting to return to Centering Prayer again. And after a quiet and sun-drenched trip to Tucson in a few weeks, I will start the on-line course re: the spirituality of St. Francis with Richard Rohr. I will also be intensifying my online spiritual direction work, too. The more time I take to be still and reflective, the more I see God's grace everywhere.

Earlier today I had this encouter that spoke volumes about the call to continue. I was in Wal-Mart shopping for cold meds and cleaning goods. Now, I know some who read my postings have issues with Wal-Mart - and I have no interest in arguing with you about those concerns - they are real. And, as I discovered when I went into retirement, they are also the cheapest place to buy almost everything we need for the bathroom and kitchen. You see, I could no longer afford my United Church of Christ health insurance when I retired. It was almost $1000 a month. So after trying to keep up with the past and going into debt, we bit the bullet and found reasonable health care through the health care market place called Obamacare (or the Affordable Health Care Act for those who insist on being PC.) I became eligible for Medicare, gladly enrolled but was still unable to afford a supplement until 2020.

At any rate, that's all context for how I became a willing Wal-Mart customer. It was essential for our well-being! Over the past two years I have started to get to know the cashiers and regularly engage them conversation. It is, if you will, my down and dirty ministry of tenderness among people who are overworked, underpaid, and too often taken for granted. Today, while buying toiletries, as I was checking out, I felt a tap on my shoulder: a young female clerk smiled at me and said, "I'm just going to unlock these razor blades for you and wanted to let you know so that you don't worry, ok?" She flashed a big, genuine grin, lifted up my razor blades, and dashed off to do her job. Before I could respond, she returned, handed me my package and said, "I hope all goes well for you today." I almost broke into tears - and laughter - right there on the spot. As I looked into her eyes, I heard myself saying softly, "You are blessing. Thank you." And she was. To me. Probably to her co-workers and certainly to some other tired and overwhelmed customers, too.

She blessed me with kindness so that I might continue. I pray that I might do as much for another tomorrow:

Continue

To be who and how you are
To astonish a mean world
With your acts of kindness

praying the examen for the year gone by...

Fr. James Martin, SJ, is one of my favorite public theologians. He is, as his name suggests, a Jesuit: one guided by the spiritual disciplines of St. Ignatius of Loyola and ordained into that sacramental order. Ignatius was a 14th century Basque soldier who experienced a profound mystical conversion to the way of Jesus while convalescing in a convent after surgery. Upon his recovery, he made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, spent time studying with the Benedictines in the Holy Land, took a formal degree in theology before founding a new order, the Society of Jesus, in 1539. It is fascinating (to me) to recall that he was a contemporary of John Calvin.

Fr. Martin recently published a prayer in the Jesuit magazine, America, in which he invites us to prayerfully consider our journey with God throughout 2019. It is an adaptation of the "examen" of Ignatius, an examination of our conscience for the whole year both "to see where God has been active (and to) notice, be grateful and, experience our desire for change." Martin offers these guidelines:

+ First, remember that this prayer is taking place in the presence of God. "It’s not just you running through a list or talking to yourself. You’re doing it with God."

+ Second, look over your 2019 calendar and remember all the times when you were grateful. "Savor them - and return thanks to the Lord."

+ Third, express your sorrow. "Surely in the space of 365 days you’ve done some things you regret. Tell God you’re sorry. If you have really harmed someone, the last day of the year is a good time to seek forgiveness."

+ Fourth, ask God for the grace to live in closer harmony with the holy in 2020. "All of us have things that we’ll need God’s grace to face: health problems, financial problems, family problems, work problems. So ask God for help." NOTE: Martin's full article in America can be found here @ https://www. americamagazine.org/faith/2019/12/30/new-years-prayer-nearly-everyone?utm_source=Newsletters&utm_campaign=b14833a845-DAILY_CAMPAIGN

_2019_12_31&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_0fe8ed70be-b14833a845-58843693

What I value in Ignatian spirituality is the commitment to use all our senses: we are invited to smell the blessings, taste the goodness, and feel the sorrow in our hearts as well as our flesh. It is a fully embodied spirituality - and while I tend to favor the path of St. Francis I have found the wisdom of Ignatius to be essential, too. Today, I committed myself to doing this year-end examen and used the better part of four hours of house-cleaning to get ready to sit with last year's calendar - and here's what I discerned:

+ Gratitude: my life was filled with gratitude in 2019! As those who saw our

Christmas letter know, we were blessed beyond belief last year. I rejoice for all the ways I was able to share creative music: Famous Before We're Dead, our Berkshire Benefit Band, Dianne, and the Jazz Ambassadors. 2019 was equally full of family blessings: Jesse, Michael, Louie and Anna; Michal, Winton and Noah. We celebrated two weddings - in California with Ross and Jennifer - and in Ottawa with Robin and Henrietta. We got to party with Phil and Julie in North Beach, too. 2019 saw the resolution of our financial debt, the blossoming of Di's teaching/ writing work with the English Farm, as well as a renewed commitment to both gardening and bread-baking. I traveled periodically to my L'Arche Ottawa community and we spent two extended times away in the Eastern Townships of Quebec and Montreal. We also reveled in the presence of Larry and Linda in Tucson. My on-line friendship with Pam continued to be real and very satisfying - and we hope to meet in person possibly in February! Lastly, we celebrated all the high holy days of our faith tradition in the company of the faithful at Trinity/St. Paul's in NYC.

+ Grief:  Three areas of grieving and sorrow were real for me this past year. I failed to connect with a dear friend during a trying time of illness earlier this summer and must now find a way to redress the pain I have caused. I have been sporadic in going deeper into Centering Prayer and realize the loss of my intimacy with God's peace at times. I am sometimes overwhelmed by the challenges of supporting loved ones in their physical illness and ask God's guidance in patience and tenderness. 

+ Grace:  A protege has experienced what I believe to be misguided and unfair treatment from a church judicatory so I pray for grace, presence and wisdom in resolving this as the new year unfolds. I pray to the Lord to strengthen Di's health in 2020 on so many fronts. I ask God's continued protection for both Anna and Louie as they engage a complicated world this year. The up-coming elections in the USA are momentous so I ask that God's people rise up and renew a commitment to voting, registering young people to vote, and helping turn out the vote in November 2020. And I ask the One who is Holy to guide the L'Arche Ottawa community as it lives into a new mandate and significant transition.  

A poem popped-up today that is a bit more cynical than I prefer, but it also captures a hint of what a new year can promise. Perhaps it will speak to you.

The New Year
by Barbara Crooker

When a door bangs shut, a window doesn't open.
Sometimes, it slams on your fingers. God often
gives us more than we can handle. A sorrow
shared is a sorrow multiplied. There's a bottle
of Champagne waiting to be uncorked,
but it's not for you. Nobody wants another poem.
The prize-winning envelope has someone else's name
on it. This year you already know you're not going
to lose those ten pounds. How can you feel hope,
when the weight of last year's rejections is enough
to bury you? Still, the empty page craves the pen,
wants to feel the black ink unscrolling on its skin.
In spite of everything, you sit at your desk and begin.